Misty Autumn Morn

Autumn mists adorn the fields

It’s early yet and has an eerie feel.

There is not a soul to see

Only the mist, Ruby and me.

So we make our way around

Where a hoary silver paints the ground

The sun is trying to burn through

Above the mist are skies of blue

There is a faint pink tint to cloud

The mist still hanging like a shroud.

So we turn homeward bound

Past the old house our muffled tread makes no sound.